‘You do nothing else down in the counties,’ sighed Tripp. ‘Well, hadn’t we better get busy?’
‘Half a moment,’ put in Heyward, ‘I’ve got something to tell you. An hour ago, Mrs. Prideaux rang up our head-quarters.’
The Scotland Yard man looked at the other incredulously. They drew a little deeper into the shadow of the shrubbery, and their voices dropped into a more confidential note.
‘She did,’ nodded Heyward, ‘and asked us to send along a couple of men this evening, as she was giving a fancy-dress dance, and was scared of motor-bandits and such like. There’s been a devil of a lot of that kind of thing lately.’
Tripp scratched his head. It was not often that he expressed surprise, but he did so now.
‘She seemed nervous,’ added Heyward. ‘Suggested that one of the men ought to mix with her guests, to make certain nothing happened.’
Inspector Tripp sucked in a long, deep breath. ‘Well, that beats the band! And you’ve arranged for this?’
‘It’s all fixed,’ replied Heyward. ‘A detective sergeant is reporting to her at nine o’clock. I wonder what she’d say if she knew about all this!’ He indicated the other group of plain-clothes men who stood awaiting instructions. ‘Shall we get a move on?’
He turned and gave some rapid orders. Presently the men slipped quietly away to their allotted posts, a couple of them going towards the avenue with instructions to make a cautious scrutiny of each car that came into the lodge gates. Tripp’s two men from the Yard were given liaison duties, and the inspectors themselves pushed their way through the bushes and stood looking across the lawns and flower-beds towards the lighted windows of the house.
Preparations for the forthcoming dance were going rapidly forward. In an open loggia, under orange-coloured lanterns, a couple of men in green baize aprons were bustling about. The conservatory was brightly illumined, and figures could be seen placing card-tables in position. Through the lighted windows, one got glimpses of people carrying flowers, and a short, stout man was walking about giving directions. The wide French windows opened upon a flight of stone steps. Somebody spoke to the short man. And then into full view came a woman.
Even at a distance there could be no mistaking that exquisite figure in a gown of shimmering blue. The two detectives in the shrubbery glanced at each other and nodded.
Mrs. Prideaux stood there motionless for over a minute, staring out across the moonlit garden. And then turning, she disappeared.
‘You said she sounded nervous when she rang up your head-quarters to-night?’ queried Tripp. ‘You’re right. You saw her just now? She’s got something on her mind, or my eyesight’s failing.’
It could not have been more than two minutes later when one of Tripp’s men crashed gently through the bushes from the rear.
‘Mrs. Prideaux, sir—she’s getting out a car from the garage. Yes, sir, all by herself. Seems to me she’s going off somewhere.’
‘That’s queer,’ muttered Tripp. ‘I’d better look into this, Heyward.’ Leaving his colleague, he hurried after the plain-clothes man who had brought him the information. They arrived at the rear of the house in time to see Mrs. Prideaux alone in a small coupé driving down the back avenue, with a wrap thrown carelessly round her shoulders.
‘Where the devil is she making for?’ muttered Tripp, as they watched the red tail-light of the car fading to a tiny speck. There was a sharp corner in the avenue where it turned to join the main road, but Mrs. Prideaux’s two-seater had stopped at the bend. The head-lamps revealed the fact that she had descended, and was opening the gate. A few moments later the high hedges of a winding lane could be traced in the rapidly-moving glow of her lights.
‘Where does that lane lead to?’ demanded Tripp. ‘Ask one of the local men—quick.’
Though he was chafing with impatience at the delay, he had his answer within a minute and a half; and slipping off the light overcoat he wore, and stuffing it into the other man’s hands, he took to his heels, running lightly over the springy turf towards the lane down which Mrs. Prideaux had driven.
In his younger days, when he had been a very junior sergeant, Inspector Tripp had won a certain modest fame as a sprinter. But it is doubtful whether he had ever covered a quarter of a mile in better time than he did that evening. At least so he told himself as he pulled up with aching lungs beside an orchard, with the gables of an old-fashioned house standing sharply above him against the night sky.
He made a rapid detour. Mrs. Prideaux’s car, with its lights dimmed, stood beside the front door of the house. Skirting the lawn, Tripp dropped on his hands and knees and crept forward until he was within twenty or thirty yards of a couple of lighted windows. The blinds were drawn, but round the corner he noted a gleam of light shining among the glossy leaves of a laurel. Edging towards it, he found a small, uncurtained window which gave him a partial view of the room within.
Books lined the walls almost to the oak beams of the low ceiling. A big desk stood in the corner, and leather armchairs were drawn up in front of the blazing logs in the open fire-place. In one of these arm-chairs sat Mrs. Prideaux, and Sir Richard Templeton stood before her on the hearth-rug.
Inspector Tripp pressed forward as close to the window as he dared. The sound of the voices within was shut off from him, but he could see that Mrs. Prideaux was talking earnestly, and Templeton stood listening to her. She began to speak again, apparently pleading with him.
The barrister took a quick turn up and down the room, and resumed his position in front of the fire. His lips hardened and again he shook his head.
At this Mrs. Prideaux’s face altered. Rising to her feet, she crossed the hearth, and placed her hands appealingly on his shoulder. He stood rigid for a moment, then looked down into her eyes, and his strong features softened. Gently but firmly he released himself, and placed her back in her chair. Whatever she was begging him to do, she was using every feminine wile in her armoury to achieve her purpose. Templeton glanced at the clock, then looked down at her meaningly. She nodded; and drawing round her white shoulders the fur wrap which she had tossed back over the chair, she walked towards the door.
By altering his position slightly Tripp was able to see what happened before they left the room. There was a smile on the barrister’s face as he paused, and, with a gesture of old-fashioned gallantry, kissed her hand. Then the door closed behind them.
Tripp watched them come out to her car, where the parting was hurried, and Mrs. Prideaux drove rapidly away, diverging from the drive into the lane that led to her own house.
From the edge of the lawn Tripp stood staring at the lighted windows of Sir Richard Templeton’s study. There was an odd frown on his face as he turned away. It was the look of a man who sees before him a task that is intensely distasteful.
Adrian Lister and Mrs. Prideaux dined alone that evening. As soon as dessert was on the table, and the servants had left the room, Adrian Lister looked across to his half-sister with a saturnine smile.
‘Why did you cancel your dinner-party to-night, Lydia?’ he asked.
‘Instructions,’ she replied shortly.
‘Lord John’s?’
She nodded, and he broke into a laugh.
‘What exactly is going to happen to-night, Lydia?’ he asked. ‘If you’ve had any further instructions about that, you haven’t told me.’
‘I know nothing,’ she said in a low voice, and gave a little shiver.
‘What impatient creatures women are!’ murmured Lister.
‘I’m not impatient!’ she flashed back at him, and then drew in a long breath. ‘I’m—I’m afraid, horribly afraid."
Adrian Lister cracked a walnut between his thin, strong fingers.
‘Jane Culross is coming to your dance to-night?’ he inquired off-handedly, mentioning the young wife of Otto Culross, the South African millionaire who had recently retired and bought a big estate near Holmdean.
‘Jane is coming,’ said Mrs. Prideaux, ‘and wearing the Culross emeralds.’
‘A charming young thing,’ murmured Adrian Lister.
‘It was her emeralds I was talking about,’ Mrs. Prideaux reminded him.
‘So was I,’ smiled Lister. ‘They’re said to be the finest stones that have come out of Colombia for years. She wore them at a dance in the Marquise Hotel last week.’ He sighed. ‘I’m surprised that our friend Lord John hasn’t made a dead set at them before to-night.’
Mrs. Prideaux looked up quickly. ‘How do you know Jane Culross wore her emeralds at the “Marquise” last week?’
‘Because I saw them,’ said Adrian, and then bit his lip.
Mrs. Prideaux gave him a questioning glance: ‘You’re a puzzle, Adrian. You didn’t tell me you were at a dance at the “Marquise”.’ As Adrian laughed she continued: ‘You’ve been out a lot lately, I’ve noticed. . . . I sometimes think you know more about Lord John and his affairs than you’ve ever admitted to me.’
Adrian’s laughter was interrupted by the sudden trill of a telephone bell in the next room. When a maid presently informed Mrs. Prideaux that the call was for her, Adrian Lister lolled back in his chair and lit a cigarette. Since the door was closed, he could not hear the conversation; and when Mrs. Prideaux returned he looked up with a lazy smile.
‘From our illustrious and honourable servant at “The Green Lantern”?’ he queried, imitating to perfection the thin, Oriental accent of Mr. Tom Young. ‘And what message does he convey from our Honourable Friend?’ He gave an ironic chuckle.
‘How did you know?’ she asked quickly.
‘Guessed it from your rather scared face, my dear. . . . Why, what’s wrong?’
Mrs. Prideaux was gripping the back of her chair. ‘It’s what I’ve been afraid of,’ she said, calming her voice with an effort.
‘Here . . . to-night?’ he asked almost casually.
She nodded, and there was a long silence.
‘Where did Tom Young telephone from?’ he asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
‘A public call-box somewhere. He said a message has just come through for me. Lord John is coming here tonight. It is his wish that the dancing is stopped for supper at exactly eleven o’clock.’
Adrian Lister finished his port with evident enjoyment, and poured himself out a second glass. ‘And did he suggest any particular dish for the menu?’ he inquired with a faint sneer.
‘Don’t you see what it means?’ cried Mrs. Prideaux. ‘Don’t you understand? Something is going to happen here to-night at eleven o’clock! He has never taken such a risk before—never. It’s madness!’
Her lips were trembling; there was fear in her eyes; and noting the symptoms, Adrian Lister pushed the cognac across the table.
‘Old brandy is good for nerves. Pull yourself together, Lydia. What does it matter to you if our friend comes here to-night?’
‘It’s too near home for my taste! What if I’m involved? I think the police are suspicious as it is—I don’t trust that man Tripp of Scotland Yard. He seems friendly, but I don’t trust him, I tell you! This isn’t going to make matters any easier. Why must Lord John come here?’
‘For the Culross emeralds, of course,’ said Adrian Lister sweetly, ‘and anything else that may take his fancy. But why do you think you may be involved?’ he asked, crushing out his cigarette. ‘Haven’t you had orders to ring up the local police and tell ’em you’re scared of motor-bandits and so forth? Surely that clears you with the police!’
‘They’re sending two plain-clothes men here,’ she retorted. ‘What can Lord John do? Nothing. It’s lunacy to try.’
‘Our friend has never failed yet,’ said Lister quietly, ‘and I fancy that he won’t fail to-night.’
He rose to his feet with a gentle laugh. ‘To change to a more pleasant subject, my dear, what costume are you wearing? I suggest the Grecian shepherdess one. If I may say so, it suits you to perfection.’ He gave a cynical bow. ‘Isn’t it time you were thinking about it? Your guests will be arriving shortly.’
He rose and held the door open for her. She was about to speak, but hesitated, and stood looking at him for a few moments, while a slightly sardonic smile played on his face. Then she passed quickly from the room.